


They Say It Should Be Someone You Really Love

by winter_rogue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always-a-girl!Stiles, F/M, Genderfuck, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_rogue/pseuds/winter_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek, tell me you’re the frog who’s going to get us out of the frying pan"</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Say It Should Be Someone You Really Love

**Author's Note:**

> angst_bingo fill "sex pollen"
> 
> Warning for dub-con as you would expect from "sex pollen made them do it" fic
> 
> I got sex pollen AND love spell gone wrong on my bingo card and i've been racking my brain to come up with something to write for these prompts and then this happened and like, all the porn fell out IDEK

“You can get us out of here, right? Like if this were the frying pan which, pretty apt analogy, you are totally the frog who's going to leap out of the big giant hole in the ground. And then get a rope or something and help me out too. Right?”

“I’m not a frog.”

“So not the point.”

“And doesn’t the frying pan cook the frog? Like a lobster?”

“Who said anything about lobsters. Oh my god, Derek, focus please.” Stiles didn’t flinched even the slightest-- no, really, not even a little bit of flinching-- when Derek snarled back in her face.

“I’m not a fucking frog.”

“Nooo,” she drew the word out, trying to squash the panic rising in her throat with comforting sarcasm, “No, you’re just the metahuman werewolf with amazing strength and reflexes and ... stuff.”

Derek opened his mouth with a twist, like he was on the edge of a biting retort when he was waylaid by a truly epic sneeze. Stiles blinked, feeling a little shocked and trying not to outright laugh at the expression on his face. Like a baby who’d just scared itself. Derek scowled at her and paced the length of their makeshift prison-- also known as A Big Giant Hole in the Ground™. 

Stiles watched him for a few drawn out minutes, trying not to fidget too badly and pretty certain she was failing at it big time. There was dirt under her fingernails and on her face, scratches on her skin where the briar patch had cut a hundred little nicks into her long sleeve cotton shirt. She twitched her nose against a budding itch; to be fair to Derek, it was rather... dusty down here.

“Does this look like actual dust to you? Because it looks a little too yellow, to me.” Stiles delicately rubbed a bit off the earth wall where the pale dust clung to dirt and exposed roots.

“Don’t,” Derek bit out sharply. Stiles twitched a glance at him, watched the way his nostrils flared in repetition, scenting the air or her or the dust or maybe the hunters who’d dropped them down here and fucked off half an hour ago. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

“Right, so not dust then? Do you _know_ what it is?” She didn’t like the way his eyes dodged hers. “You do, you totally know and probably why you’re werewolf allergic to it too!”

“I’m not--!” he started to protest, mouth and eyebrows scrunching up indignantly. Stiles had never realized eyebrows could look so indignant until she started spending regular hours running around the dark woods with Derek Hale. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Funny, looking around, you and me, I don’t really feel like the ridiculous one in this situation.” Derek’s eyes flashed but he was cut off by another violent sneeze. Stiles did the mature thing and refrained from actually sticking her finger in his face and yelling “hah!” Instead she crossed her arms over her ruined shirt and tried pinning him down with her most authoritative narrowed-eyed look. Stiles felt that in the last six month she’d really started to hone this particular expression into a fine bladed weapon. 

It figured Derek would be the one to neatly sidestep it’s attack by turning his back on her and bracing himself against the far wall. He was breathing heavily-- for a werewolf-- deep, too quick breaths that made the muscles in his back expand and contract in a smooth roll. She might have gotten a little lost enjoying the view but you could hardly blame her. Derek and his muscles were just distracting like that.

They didn’t entirely explain how she found herself, tunnel vision, being snapped back to reality what felt like an inordinate length of time later. Like coming out of a dream, a haze, Stiles jerked a little straighter, smacking her dry mouth closed. Derek had turned back towards her and was frowning.

“What?” her voice felt thick, the sound low and rough. She didn’t know her voice could sound like that; almost smokey. 

“Stiles.”

“Derek. Shit, do you...” she couldn’t stop licking her lips. There was a strange sort of chalky taste in the back of her mouth, it left her feeling thirsty and slow. The whole world felt slow. Her eyes meandered down Derek from head to foot, lingering on all the lovely places where his tight henley and jeans just _clung_. 

“I realize how Star Trek this is about to sound but tell me we didn’t get dropped down a whole full of-- full of _sex pollen_.” Any other time she might have blushed furiously at just the thought of it but Stiles felt a little past virgin credited embarrassment just at the moment. From less than six feet away she could hear Derek grinding his teeth.

Stiles swallowed and scrubbed her hands through the beading sweat on the back of her neck. “Oh god, that’s exactly it. My life just became the Star Trek Pilot. Only it’s Number One who got captured by the aliens instead of Pike and you’re totally the hot specimen offered up as temptation so they can study our--” she snapped her mouth closed before that thought got any further away from her. Derek was still staring at her, eyes dark and liquid in the gloom. Sunset had been only an hour or so off when they’d run afoul of the new hunters in town and it was even darker down here in the pit. Still, a bit of light reflected off his eyes, not red, but beacon-like nevertheless.

“Stiles,” he growled, like it was physically painful.

“That’s my name.” The tone of her voice fell flat. “Derek, tell me you’re the frog who’s going to get us out of the frying pan.”

Stiles watched his face collapse a little, his body slumping defeated back against the traitorous earth. She didn’t need his response, could read the lines of guilt and defeat in the slope of his shoulder and bend in his thighs.

“I’m sorry.”

That more than just about anything else that had happened to them so far tonight startled her a little. She wanted to say something reassuring but the longer she stared at him the heavier the fog seemed to creep across the edges of her brain, making her heart race and the ache between her thighs unmistakable.

“Yeah, me too,” she muttered, “but there’s not a lot we can do except try to hold out until the others come looking for us and baring-- well, in the event we, you know, can’t we just... we can’t blame each other or, or the other person, right? That’s what you gotta do in these situations.” She shook her head furiously, trying to concentrate, trying to resist the allure of all that warmth she could practically feel radiating off Derek. “Assuming other people end up in similar situations and it’s not just our hideous luck, which, not ruling that out.”

Stiles slumped back against the wall, mirroring Derek’s posture. His eyes burned into her. Oh god, she thought, it may just be the sex pollen but right at this exact moment he wanted her. He, Derek Hale alpha werewolf supernatural hottie wanted her, Stiles Stilinski, scraped hands and knees and all.

“I wish you would just kiss me.” If that was true most of the time, well, it was something Stiles was too far gone to feel overly guilty about.

One second, a vast gulf of empty air separated them, the next Derek was pressed into her chest to chest, like he’d teleported. Stiles arched into the warm, solid crush of his body, rubbed her hard nipples and her small, firm breasts against him shamelessly. Derek growled softly, almost more of a grown, and buried his nose in her neck whuffling softly. A hot tongue flicked across her overheated skin and made Stiles shudder harder.

“Shit.” She curled up towards him, hands biting into his cotton shirt and the muscle underneath.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept mouthing into her skin even as his hands came up to grip her hips and bring them flush together.

Stiles whined and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled on his hair until their lips were a hair's breadth apart and murmured, “I know, me too, I know, it’s going to be ok,” and kissed him fiercely.

It wasn’t fair. She’d never imagined losing her virginity in the cold, pitch black, in a hole in the ground. She was sure Derek had never looked at her with eyes like that before today. Neither of them had asked for this to happen and Stiles was glad she didn’t have the upper brain function right now to worry about what the fallout was going to look like tomorrow.

They scrabbled at each other cloths, discarding items haphazardly into a sort of nest that Derek bore her back into. She didn’t have time or the faculties to feel nervous about being naked in front of someone else-- in front of a boy, in front of _Derek_ \-- before he’d leaned in close, framing her head with his arms and biting a string of wet, hot kisses down her throat and collarbone to her breasts.

There were noises coming out of her mouth, Stiles was vaguely aware, loud shameless noises that she couldn’t bother to stifle. Derek’s head felt good between her hands, his hair sliding like silk between her fingers. His lips her soft on her skin, his teeth and sharp focus that followed, that struck her right into her skin, into the ache she could feel building up, the phantom pleasure. She felt wet and wide open and decadent, rubbing up against him, seeking the perfect angle, just the right amount of friction.

Derek groaned and stroked firm across the skin of her side, got a hand between them and a finger into the hot clench of her pussy. Stiles jerked into the sensation, her mind scittering around the knowledge that those were _someone else’s fingers, holy shit_ inside her, moving and curling and--

“Oh god, there, right there.” She could feel the puffs of Derek’s exhalations against her shoulder where he’d curled up close, his head angled so he could watch his calloused fingers run trembling across her clit. Stiles thrust her hips up into it, demanding a rhythm and he seemed content enough to oblige her, eyes riveted on his hand until she was coming under him and on him, muscles clenching and releasing, a lightning crack of pleasure lighting up her spine and leaving her feeling weak and a little wrung out but not less hungry.

Stiles blinked up at him, lethargic, watched in gripping fascination as he brought his hand up and licked delicately at his wet fingers. She shivered and pulled him in tighter against her at the waist, not shying away at all from the hard cock pressed insistently into her soft belly.

“Stiles.” He sounded like she imagined he would if werewolves could get drunk.

She lay there, her mind whirring tangentially, “Can you imagine if they got their hands on this and put it in a pill. If they _bottled_ it?.”

“This is fucked up,” Derek murmured into her neck.

Stiles drew her fingers up along the bumps of his spine and hummed softly, “I know. Trust me, I know, and I know that you know. But I can’t... I can’t seem to stop all the same. Just,” she frowned a little and ducked her face away, “just be careful okay?”

And he was. She could see the strain in every line of his body. It still hurt, fuck did it hurt, like they were trying to jam something huge in where it had no business being but even as far gone as she was, Stiles could see how desperately Derek was trying to fight the effects of the dust. Was trying to go slow, trying to claw out some control. Could feel it in the way he trembled, braced over her, giving her time to adjust.

It still hurt, a sharp ache deep inside of her as he started moving; little careful thrusts. Stiles let her head fall back against the soft dirt, arching up and away from where Derek was breathing hot and sticky into her bruised neck. 

After a few tense minutes he got his hand back between them, clever fingers seeking out and finding her clit and working it in counterpoint to his thrusts. God damn werewolf dexterity. Stiles felt the tension in her lower body ratchet up, overriding the pain as her second orgasm arched through her, blindsiding her, forcing her to contract hard around Derek’s cock buried inside her.

Stiles felt like she was choking on it. Derek thrust harder, planted his knees between her spread thighs and just _rutted_ , deep guttural groans buried like a secret just between them in her skin.

“Fuck, fuck Sti--” and then he was freezing, thrust up as deep inside as he could get, every muscle in his body standing out in start relief for a heavy protracted moment before he relaxed.

Stiles felt totally strung out. Couldn’t even muster up much of a wince as Derek withdrew, cock still half hard and glistening with their combined release. She shivered into his touch as he curled up around her, strong arms and fingers clutching at her, pelvis flush against her side and hip.

She could still feel the influence of the dust or the sex pollen, weaving through her head, mudding her thoughts. It left the whole world a bit dreamy, surreal. They’d have to deal with this later, after the pack rescued them and probably after the hunters were dealt with. And knowing them, it was going to suck.

Stiles turned into the hot curve of Derek and closed her eyes.

End


End file.
